


The Hockey God of Death

by crusherccme



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Hockey Gods, POV Death, Post 3.26, Suicide mention, death mention, hockey violence mention, metaphors about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crusherccme/pseuds/crusherccme
Summary: The hockey god of death is incapable of liking or disliking people, but if it could it would certainly like Kent Parson.





	The Hockey God of Death

Every sport has its own god of death, and hockey is no different. A grim reaper in hockey skates and a goalie mask, it travels the globe awaiting the next hockey death. Lingering under thin ice, watching every time a head hits the boards or a fist strikes a face, counting every pill, observing every surgery. But most often, it leads elderly men and women by the hand as they journey to the frozen pond in the sky. 

The hockey god does not prefer certain deaths to others, because it does not have any preferences at all, but there is undeniably a quieter grace in dying from age-related complications than something pertaining to the violence of the sport. Some other sports gods of death do not watch over their athletes after their retirements, but the magic of hockey touches a player’s soul in such a way that they never truly stop belonging to hockey. And maybe that makes the hockey god more busy than, say, the tennis god, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.

It can be satisfying, in a way, to stand witness to the end of a player it once touched. Every concussion, every major surgery, every drink and drug is a hello. So it says hello, and then they go back to their lives, but some come back and say hello again, and again, and again. 

In a way, they are its flock, as it stands over them like shepherd. In a way, they are its children, as they always return to it in the end. 

As hockey is the lives of these players, the hockey god of death reigns supreme over them in the bureaucratic system of gods of death. As such, it has some small influence over their short lives.

One of its children was named Jack Zimmermann. They only said hello when Jack took five, six, seven pills too many, but it wasn’t his time yet. A tap and a tug on the soul of its most well-known child sent him rushing in, able to prevent a premature journey to the pond. 

There are some players it only meets once, when it guides them on that final journey to the pond. More often, it greets them several times, as the sport invites instances and also the closeness of death is often a part of life. But it knew one of its children all too well.

Kent Parson first met the hockey god after a fall down a flight of stairs, something that certainly could not be written off as a hockey injury. It met him several more times before he left home for Québec. While it greets many for non-hockey related incidents, it is rare that it greets them for this. It is incapable of liking or disliking anything, but if it could it certainly would have disliked this. And while it could not hold favorites or preferences, it did watch Kent Parson a bit more closely than it did its other children. 

When a player thinks of suicide it is not a greeting with a handshake, an embrace, an exchanging of words, but rather a tap on the shoulder, a meeting of eyes across a crowded room. Kent had tapped it on the shoulder far more times than it wishes to count. 

It cannot touch corporeal things until they come to it, but if it could it would have left him the card for a therapist, one that could have helped with the shoulder taps, especially the ones that gripped its shoulder and tried to turn it into a greeting. 

He whispered his truths into the fur of his cat, but the god of cats does not bother with cats’ human companions. He would find no help buried beneath her hide.

He had been thrice visited by the hockey god of victory, and the hockey gods of sick skating and beautiful goals lived in his shadow, but there was not much that they could have done either.

It follows its children, since hockey is not the biggest sport so the hockey god of death isn’t as busy as, say, the football god of death. It watched Jack Zimmermann greet the hockey god of victory and shortly thereafter greet his smaller companion. It would then greet him not long after during hard hits and death threats, but the pond was far away. 

Kent Parson tapped it on the shoulder, and it shook its robes out of his grasp. It was not his time. It watched the accelerator of his car inch towards red, it watched him lean against his balcony, it watched him in the bathroom and the bedroom and the kitchen, shaking off each tap. It would not allow him to get a grip because it was not his time. 

The taps stopped after Jeff Troy arrived. It had only met this child twice, for a knee surgery and a concussion. If it was capable of liking things it would have liked how Jeff Troy helped to calm Kent Parson’s tapping, but death is relentless and does not play favorites. 

The hockey god of death was busier than usual that night as several players listened to news and responses and tapped it on the shoulder. It did not turn to greet any of them. 

It greeted people more often the following year during many dirty hits and executed threats. But more of its children stayed with the sport than usual and some started tapping it less. 

Kent Parson started tapping less even as it greeted him more, but eventually it interacted with him only rarely. One day Kent Parson brought it a new player, but it would only greet her once years later. It was many years after that that it led him to the pond. 

Years breeze by and time moves on unrelentingly, the sport changes and it greets its children less and less while on the ice. It leads countless players to their final game of pond hockey in the sky. And though it does not have favorites, the hockey god of death will always remember Kent Parson.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this idea came from but I decided to try it. Let me know what you think! I'm new to writing so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as crusherccme.


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